It seemed to her that for an instant everything and everyone in the scene except Benedict and Logan froze. The two men did not stop. They were intent only on the destruction of their prey. And their prey was Virgil Warwick.
Virgil erupted from the brief trance. He scrambled to his feet. Amity made no attempt to stop him. Neither did Penny. They both knew that he would never escape the wrath of the two men who were between him and the door.
Virgil must have seen the ice in Benedict’s and Logan’s eyes. He stopped short, frantic now.
“No!” he shrieked. “I’ve done nothing. It’s the whores. They are trying to kill me.”
“Stop,” Logan said. “I am arresting you on charges of murder.”
“No!” Virgil screamed. “I’m Virgil Warwick. You can’t touch me.”
He whirled around and reached out to grab Amity. She realized he intended to use her as a shield. She lurched out of his path. Her foot caught on the thick, treacherous folds of satin in the skirts of the gown. She lost her balance, but the fall took her out of range of Virgil’s desperately flailing hands.
He changed direction and went after the gun he had dropped during the struggle.
Benedict aimed his pistol and pulled the trigger.
The roar of the gun bounced off the walls. Virgil stiffened as if he had been electrified. He looked down, staring in disbelief at the growing bloodstain on the front of his crisply pleated white shirt. Then he raised his eyes and stared at Benedict, bewildered.
“I’m Virgil Warwick,” he said. “You can’t do this to me.”
He crumpled to the floor.
A great hush descended upon the room. Amity grabbed Penny’s hand. Penny’s fingers closed around hers. They both watched Logan crouch beside Virgil.
“Is he dead?” Benedict asked.
“Not quite,” Logan said. He took his fingers away from Virgil’s throat. “But he will be soon, which, under the circumstances, is a very good thing. We will not have to worry that he might be released again from an asylum.”
Virgil’s eyes fluttered. He stared up at Benedict with fading eyes.
“Where is Mother?” he rasped. “She will take care of everything.”
“Not this time,” Benedict said.
Forty-one
The first light of dawn was illuminating an overcast sky when the hansom cab stopped in front of Benedict’s address. He paid the driver, descended the narrow steps to the pavement and turned to look back at Logan.
“Can I offer you a brandy, Inspector? I think we’ve both earned one. It’s been a long night.”
Logan hesitated and for a moment Benedict thought he might refuse. Then he got out of the cab.
“A brandy sounds like an excellent notion,” Logan said. “Thank you.”
They went up the steps. Benedict reached into his pocket for the key. His fingers brushed across the Rose Necklace. Another sharp pang of dismay splashed through him, weighing down his spirits. He relived the moment in Warwick’s ghastly studio when Amity had looked as if she would fling herself headlong into his arms. Instead, she had composed herself and said something about his always excellent timing.
They had all agreed that it would be best if he escorted the ladies home before the press arrived. The story was bound to be a sensation, but the uproar would be even greater if the killer’s last two intended victims were discovered at the scene.
Unable to tolerate another moment in the wedding gown the killer had forced her to wear, Amity had insisted on taking the time to change back into her own dress before leaving the studio.
She did not remove the Rose Necklace until they were back in Exton Street. Benedict had the feeling that she had forgotten it. There, on the front steps, Amity had paused to thank him again, ever so politely, and then she had reached up to unclasp the necklace.
In the hazy glow of the gas lamps he thought he saw some emotion in her eyes, but he could not read it. Shock, he concluded. What else? She had been through a terrible ordeal.
“You mustn’t forget your necklace, Benedict,” she said, handing it to him. “I know how important it is to you and your family. I don’t want to take any more chances with it.”
He had left Amity and Penny in Mrs. Houston’s capable hands and returned to the grim, boarded-up house that Warwick had used as a photography studio. He had been very conscious of the weight of the necklace in his pocket while he waited for Logan to finish with the business of collecting evidence.
